Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.
I am interested in the shape of ideas even if I do not believe in them. There is a wonderful sentence in Augustine . . . "Do not despair: one of the thieves was saved; do not presume: one of the thieves was damned." That sentence had a wonderful shape. It is the shape that matters.
That's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
To restore silence is the role of objects.
Art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear
Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
There's never an end for the sea.
In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.
Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.
To have been always what I am - and so changed from what I was.
But I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.
The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.
Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.
He who has waited long enough, will wait forever. And there comes the hour when nothing more can happen and nobody more can come and all is ended but the waiting that knows itself in vain.
Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!
Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that… Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more.
It was the only way to progress, to stop.
...you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it's done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on
We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench
The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.
Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.
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